Between the Lines
by ninja.this
Summary: After the death of her mother, Keina Nightwing is raised in Astranaar as a druid. Once finally set free of menial tasks like 'retrieving murloc fins' and so on, she eagerly ventures far from home and finds herself hopelessly tied up with the horde.
1. prologue

It seemed as if the cool breezes of the night took on a harsher chill. Lungs aching painfully at the lack of air, the Night Elf dared not look back as she sprinted over the bodies of her fallen comrades, clutching the tiny newborn tightly to her chest. The pale faces of the dead soldiers seemed almost mocking.

Glancing up towards the tree line that seperated Ashenvale from the Barrens, the elf nearly choked with realization and horror. She would die. Fear crawled through her veins like an icy serpent, as if slowing her movement even more; constricting.

Fear not for herself, but the tiny infant she held. Her child.

Already, she was close enough to the borders of Ashenvale to hear a small troupe of orcs walking through the bushes; to see the deadly gleam of their weapons.

An ambush.

If the orcs behind her failed to catch up, she knew that the ones ahead would make up for their inability to off her. She looked back, measuring the distance between her and the orcs chasing her, and came to a halt. Letting out a loud whistle that sounded like the liquid trill of a birdsong, her cat-like eyes scanned her surroundings.

One minute...

Her breath came out in visible small wisps, a result of the cool night, as she broke out into a fast jog, eyes still scrutinizing the dirt hillsides of the Barrens. A streak of silver came into view, and a relieved smile spread across the elf's face. An agonized feral roar ripped through the night, coming from the frostsaber that was fast approaching.

Running beside the saber now, the elf quickly adjusted one of the fairly large bags that hung off of the frostsaber, fitting the elfling child into the pouch. Gripping the reins of the frostsaber, the elf nimbly leapt up into the saddle, and forced the animal even faster, the constant pad of its' paws against the rough ground of the Barrens was unnerving.

500 yards.

250.

Her breaths came short and shallow, readying herself for the short battle. All she needed was a distraction. Looking down desperately at her child, her eyes softened as she picked up the infant for the last time, kissing her daughter on the forehead.

"_Ande'thoras-ethil_, Keina Nightwing"

Placing the child back down in the makeshift pouch, she pulled her sword from its' ash black sheathe attached to her leather belt.

100 yards. Almost there...

50. Just a little closer...

20.

"_Tor ilisar'thera'nal__!_" Jumping off of the frostsaber, sword raised, she came crashing down on one of the shocked orcs, not counting on the move she made. Her sword came down swiftly, slicing through his leather armor and cutting deeply into his green skin. Splatters of red graced the soft earth of ashenvale. Throwing her sword up barely in time to parry the sword of another orc, she sidestepped, her sword slicing into his side. Maneuvering behind the orc, she stabbed him in the back.

Raising her head slightly, she could see her child and the frostsaber disappearing into the thick woods.

Parry, stab, dodge, attack, block.

Exhaustion began to take over the elf, as her moves became less precise and slower.

It was over.

* * *

_Ande'thoras-ethil - _May your troubles be diminished (A farewell)

_Tor ilisar'thera'nal - _Let our enemies beware! (A war-cry)

**ninja.this here! This is my first ever fanfic and I hope that the prologue wasn't that bad, and I apologize for it being somewhat short.**** Some constructive criticism is appreciated 'coz I know that my writing isn't perfect.**

**Please R&R.**


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

* * *

**Durotar, Kalimdor**

The Troll raised his hand slightly, covering his eyes from the unforgiving light of the Durotar sun, his leather armor sticking to his body from sweat, he looked over the horizon to where the horde capital lay in the distance: Orgrimmar. Glancing down at the bag he held, shook it slightly, and sighed. His finish to his latest quest was quite ironic.

It wasn't his fault, after all, that Night Elves and Blood Elves looked so damned alike. Or perhaps it was just elves in general, they all looked alike in his opinion. Pointy, long ears, glowing eyes, unnatural looking skin, and _feminine._ The Troll chuckled, as he recalled his first meeting with the blood elves in Silvermoon, having to report to the Regent Lord. The look of disdain on his face was hilarious, when he had nearly called Lor'themar the Regent Lady, although his trainer was incredibly upset.

"Hurry up, Troll," the Troll was startled out of his thoughts by the undead standing a few meters in front of him, scowling. "Or do I need to save you from the desert too?"

"My name be Denjai, mon," Denjai ignored the latter comment made, and the undead gave him a look of annoyance before turning and continuing towards the great Horde city. To put it simply, Denjai detested this undead. He had met many forsaken before, but the one walking before him now, was the one he disliked the most. A cunning bastard this one was.

Accidentally thinking that the Night Elf sentinels had been Blood Elves patrolling the western side of the Mor'shan Ramparts, he had made the Elves aware of his presence. But then again, both races looked the same to him. Perhaps the Night Elves had a more alluring quality to them (the females, of course!); but regardless, it had led to his capture.

Being brought to the Sentinel camp, the Troll was tossed into the same cage as the forsaken. They both happened to be in the same predicament; captured by the Ashenvale Sentinels and were to be interrogated and executed. The undead, being an engineer quite skilled in his trade, had succeeded in destroying the lock on the cage, only to turn around and demand money for the, 'unnecessary use of perfectly good materials'. If only he had remembered his thieves' tools, then he could have escaped by himself, and that forsaken would not be collecting his quest reward for him.

Tossing the sack up onto his shoulder, Denjai heaved another long-suffered sigh as they entered the city. Weaving their way through the crowds of people, they were edged towards the very sides of the buildings surrounding the lower tier of the city. Traders stayed to the shade of the walls, as people browsed their wares, or sold some queer trinket to the traders, only to sell it back for more to some poor misfit. Finally escaping the lower tier of the city, they made their way up towards the Wyvern Master, until the Undead took a sudden left turn, heading towards the Valley of Wisdom.

Denjai hesitated for a moment, before trailing closer behind the undead, "Where ya goin', mon? Da person waitin' on me t'come back is by tha Drag,"

"You will follow me, Troll, we're visiting a friend of mine," the Forsaken hissed back.

The shadows on the walls grew longer, till it seemed that midday had long passed and night had returned, though the sun had only just peaked in the sky. Denjai paused for a moment and stood up to his full height, a look of disgust passing over his face, "'Ey mon, what be that smell?"

The undead merely smiled, maggots crawling from the eaten away flesh in his face, and Denjai involuntarily shivered. He absolutely hated the Forsaken.

* * *

**Ashenvale, Kalimdor**

The high branches of the loft wood formed a dense canopy of leaves, occasionally pierced by shafts of silver light, casting ethereal beauty upon the forest, the tops of the trees were swept by a breeze undiscovered. The deep silence of the wood was a gentle weight of serenity.

Dimly glowing yellow eyes searched the ground of the forest, under the protection of the foliage, with practiced sharpness, before the large black panther rose from the bushes. It's sleek black fur was interrupted only by a silver, crescent shaped moon on both sides of it's forelegs, but continued in a dark river. Sniffing the air, it moved quietly along the bowls of the trees. Slinking closer towards the edge of the forest, the panther sunk lower to the ground, prowling, as the green grass died away, melting into the pale whitish sand beach, littered with broken, ancient buildings, that was the Zoram Strand.

_'Find the Warsong Runner, kill him, and bring me any documents of importance!'_

The command rang clear in the panther's head, as it inched closer and closer towards the Mountains that loomed over the forest, running from halfway down the beach into the forest of Ashenvale, cutting off a direct path to the target. The panther paused for a minute, as it gently put it's paw onto the white sand, examining it. It had never been past the edge of the forest before, no. She had been warned, and did not dare to step beyond the borders of the wood and the sands where the Naga kept watch, until this moment.

The panther's ears perked up; a string of rushed Orcish reaching her ears. Following the sounds of the alien dialect, it soon discovered the small camp where three large Orcs sat around a fire burning low, discussing matters amongst themselves. The panther paused; three Orcs to one Elf. Daring to take a step further, a loud _snap!_, sounded over the crackling of the fire. The panther looked down, shocked, to see in her hastiness, she had stepped on a stray twig. She was not the only one shocked, the Orcs jumped upwards, hands at their swords and daggers, the fire illuminating the cold steel of the weapons.

The Orc closest to the forest turned and made a quick signal to the other Orcs, before venturing towards, and into the darkness of the trees. He held a torch, which illuminated his green skin and considerable bulk, which was a strange look for the elf to see. She had been accustomed only to the purple tones of the Night Elves and their lithe figures. Regardless, she followed the Orc, until the small camp was out of sight, and the shade of the wood had engulfed them completely.

Pouncing, the panther landed on the back of the large Orc, before beginning to rip at his back with her claws, shredding through his leather armor. The Orc managed to throw the panther off his back before turning and whipping out a one-handed hunting axe.

"Gol'Kosh! You will die Elfling!" He screamed, charging at the panther with blind rage. The panther dodged to the left as the Orc came charging, only to be clipped in the back with the blunt end of the axe, smashing her towards the ground. She lunged at his neck, satisfied as her teeth bit into his green flesh, and a low gurgle sounded from the Orc, before he dropped, dead, onto the moss-covered ground.

The panther stood up on it's back legs, it's short, sleek black fur receding till it was a curtain of silver hair that hung free, markings of the blade appeared along the Elf's eyes, and crude leather armor adorned her slim body, a staff slung across her back. Her worn leather boots made low _'squelching'_ noises as she walked towards the body of the Orc, the moss on the ground now dyed a darker hue. Kneeling down beside the body, she carefully began sifting through the small cloth bags that hung from the leather belt of the Orc.

_'look for a parcel and a letter when the task is done. Do not fail me Keina'_

With a smile of triumph, the Elf lifted up the small parcel, and held it level with her face. It was a simple looking thing, wrapped in brown paper, and a letter attached to it. She had no clue how the Elves back in Astranaar would be able to read the letter, it was, after all, written in Orcish.

Her long, pointed ears twitched, as she heard the sound of boots softly padding against the moss laden ground, and the alien Orc language rand through the air again

* * *

"I'm telling you, he went this way!" The larger Orc gestured towards the mountains that seemed to spring up from the ground at an alarming height.

The latter shook his head, "No, Karg was headed towards the road," pointing in the direction opposite to the other Orc, "he knows that the woods aren't safe. The path would have been the best option!" The two Orcs continued bickering for some time, passing deeper and deeper into the lofty woods, neither paying attention to their surroundings.

With a deadly, '_thuk_,' the larger Orc fell, a dagger protruding from his neck, and as the other Orc turned, the claws of the panther sang.

* * *

A/N:

**_http : // forums . worldofwarcraft . com / thread . html ? topicId = 12053281 & sid = 1 & pageNo = 1_**

I would just like to say that the link above may be an interesting thing to read for all WoW fanfiction writers/rpers. It has to do with the racial ages and hopefully will provide to be a helpful, or interesting source (just remember to not space everything out like I have done in the above link). Thank you everybody who commented, and I'm really sorry for the long wait, I Have been having trouble with logging into this account for some time no, as well as my hotmail.

That's all I can write for now though, and I hope this was a much better chapter than the first, and much more satisfying!

I apologize for any mistakes etc, because I didn't have time to edit this.


End file.
